Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind stirred the treetops along the cliffs of Berk, whistling between the thatched rooftops and stone walls as night crept over the island. A thin mist clung to the ground, wrapping the village in a hushed silence—as if the land itself were holding its breath.

Hiccup stood alone in his home, the wooden door shut behind him like a final decision made. In his hand, a folded letter trembled slightly, ink smudged where his fingers had pressed too hard. The hearth crackled low, but the warmth did little to reach him.

Only hours ago, the Great Hall had erupted in cheers. They had called his name—his—with pride and laughter. "Hiccup the Dragon Slayer." The awkward boy who had once been a disgrace was now the pride of the village.

They all believed he had done it.

That he had won the training fair and square. That he had earned the right to kill a dragon.

But it had all been a lie.

A beautiful, dangerous lie.

And Hiccup hated how easily they had believed it.

He paced slowly to the window, staring out at the foggy night. Somewhere beyond the ridges, Toothless was waiting. The thought of the dragon—his dragon—brought a painful knot to his chest. Toothless trusted him with his life. What would happen to him if Hiccup stayed here? If he played the role they had written for him?

No. He couldn’t do it. Not to Toothless. Not to himself.

But walking away wasn’t easy. Not tonight.

Astrid’s face floated into his mind—determined, fierce, unflinching. She had trained harder than anyone. She had earned that final spot more than he ever had. And he had stolen it from her. Stolen her dream.

He’d tried to tell himself it was for a good reason. That it was necessary.

But guilt clung to him like the night air. He hadn’t just lied to the village. He had lied to her.

He turned back to the table and placed the letter down gently, one sentence echoing in his thoughts:

“I wish I could be what you wanted.”

It was addressed to his father, but it felt like it belonged to everyone.

He lingered a moment longer in the center of the room, his gaze drifting across the shelves, the wall carvings, the empty space by the hearth where his mother’s things once stood. So much history. So much weight.

He whispered into the quiet, “I’m sorry, dad. I just… I can’t be part of this lie anymore.”

Then he stepped outside.

The cold bit at his face as he pulled his cloak tighter and made his way silently through the sleeping village. The Great Hall still rang faintly with the sounds of celebration. He didn’t belong to that world anymore. Maybe he never had.

Beyond the ridge, Toothless waited beneath the trees, his green eyes blinking gently in the dark. When Hiccup approached, the dragon let out a low trill, almost questioning.

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, voice soft. “I know. I’m scared too.”

He climbed into the saddle, adjusting the tail fin with practiced hands. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. The sea stretched ahead—endless and unknown.

“But this is the right thing,” he said, more to himself than to Toothless. “For you. For me. For everyone.”

Toothless launched skyward, and Berk dropped away beneath them like a dream fading in the morning light.

And this time, Hiccup didn’t look back.

“Alright, bud,” Hiccup muttered, tightening the straps of the saddle, “we keep heading southeast. Just a little more, and we’ll hit the edge of the Farreach Isles.”

Toothless let out a long, weary grunt that sounded suspiciously like a complaint.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Hiccup said, cracking a tired grin. “I know I said ‘just a little more’ two hours ago. But this time, I mean it. We’re practically there. Probably just over that next cloud bank. Maybe two.”

Toothless responded with a drawn-out, sarcastic warble.

Hiccup chuckled. “Okay, okay—so maybe I’ve lost track of a few details. We’ve been flying all night, and I didn’t get to pack a full breakfast, and I may or may not have had time to chart every current south of Dragon’s Edge...”

The dragon flicked his ear-like frills back with a dry snort.

“Hey! I’ll have you know this was a very well-planned escape,” Hiccup said, holding up his rolled parchment map triumphantly. “We go past the Mid-Ridge Shoals, swing wide around the Serpent Spine, and then straight into—”

A sudden gust of wind whipped past them, yanking the map from his hand.

“Whoa—no no no no—!” Hiccup reached after it, fingertips brushing the edge of the parchment before it vanished into the dark sky, carried away like a feather.

He stared at the empty space where it had been, blinking. “...Right. So… minor setback.”

Toothless made a low, unimpressed sound.

Hiccup sighed, pulling his cloak tighter against the wind. “It’s fine. I still have my journal. That’s got half the landmarks we need anyway—”

But the wind was no longer just wind.

He glanced up. The cloud banks he’d pointed out to Toothless earlier had thickened fast—too fast.

What had been a faint gray haze on the horizon was now a deep wall of churning slate, steadily swallowing the pale blue sky. The air grew heavier by the second, and the gusts that had earlier tugged at his cloak now pushed against them with real force.

Toothless growled low in his throat, shifting uneasily beneath him.

Raindrops—just a few—dotted Hiccup’s forehead. He wiped them away with his hand, frowning. “That’s not right.”

The clouds twisted in on themselves like smoke, and distant thunder rolled, not with the randomness of weather, but with purpose.

Toothless tensed again, wings faltering slightly.

Then, without warning, a jagged bolt of purple lightning split the sky barely a hundred feet from them, cracking with a sound like the earth breaking in half. Hiccup flinched, nearly losing his grip.

And then he saw it.

Emerging from the swirling storm, wings slicing the air like blades, came a dragon unlike any he had ever seen in person—a Skrill.

Hiccup's breath caught. “Skrill... Class: Strike. Conducts lightning through its body. Drawn to storms. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight,” he recalled the Book of Dragons entry almost by heart. He never imagined he’d meet one face-to-face—let alone mid-flight in an open sky.

Its body was crackling with violet energy, its gaze fixed and hungry.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Hiccup muttered. “Why this one?”

The Skrill shrieked, a piercing cry that resonated in his bones, and dove straight for them.

Toothless veered hard, plasma blasts flying in retaliation. The battle began mid-air — a chaotic dance of fire and lightning between clouds.

A blast from the Skrill exploded near Hiccup’s side, and the force nearly knocked him off the saddle. He barely managed to hang on, but in the struggle, he felt something tear loose—

His satchel.

He turned just in time to see it slip free, tumbling backward into the wind. The flap came open mid-fall. Hiccup reached toward it, eyes wide.

“No—!”

The journal — his journal — fluttered out and vanished into the storm.

He watched it disappear, helpless, his gut twisting. Gone.

But there was no time to mourn. The Skrill roared again, circling for another strike.

Toothless roared back, flipping into a defensive dive as the Skrill dove toward them.

A chase began.

The Night Fury twisted and turned through the blackened sky, plasma blasts flying like comets toward their attacker. But the Skrill was fast—unnaturally fast—and the storm fed it. Every bolt of lightning only seemed to make it stronger.

“Toothless, we can't outfly it—not in this!” Hiccup shouted, ducking as a bolt missed them by inches. “We need to lose it!”

Toothless responded with a sharp dive into the roiling cloud cover, the world turning pitch black around them. Hiccup felt the moisture sting his face, the cold biting through his clothes. He urged Toothless on, guiding him by instinct and the flickering glow of lightning that lit the clouds in eerie pulses. They twisted hard to port, then climbed abruptly, emerging behind the Skrill’s last known path.

Toothless let out a growl of triumph and fired—a powerful blast that clipped the Skrill’s wing and sent it into a roll. But the impact had cost them energy.

Too much.

Toothless’s flight pattern grew sloppier, his wings heavy, his fire charges dimmer. Hiccup could feel it—he was pushing himself past his limit. They had been flying all night, chasing landmarks and fighting fatigue even before the storm hit. Now the cold wind and the Skrill’s relentless attacks drained the last of Toothless’s strength.

Then, as the Skrill pulled up for another pass, a massive crack of lightning exploded in the clouds between them. The creature shrieked and wheeled away, vanishing into the swirling chaos.

Whether it was wounded or simply satisfied with its display of dominance, it left.

But the storm it was riding did not.

The rain returned in sheets. The wind seemed to howl harder than before. Toothless dipped low, chest heaving.

“We need to land,” Hiccup said, scanning the sea below for any sign of land. “Come on, just—just hold out a little longer…”

Then, as if fate heard him, a rocky outline appeared through the mist: a small island, jagged and unwelcoming—but it was land.

“There! That ridge—see it?”

Toothless didn’t even answer this time. He dove hard, wings shaking, and with one final effort landed on the slick stone, skidding before stopping.

Hiccup slid off, staggering into the wind. He spotted a dark hollow in the rock face—an opening barely visible behind the veil of rain. A cave.

“Over there!” he shouted, waving Toothless forward.

Together, soaked and shivering, they made it inside.

The cave wasn’t large, but it was dry and shielded from the worst of the wind. Hiccup collapsed against the wall, coughing from the cold, legs trembling from the flight and the chase. He pulled off his soaked cloak and tried to wring it out, fingers numb and pale.

Toothless shook himself off like a drenched cat, then slowly padded to the center of the cave. With a tired grunt, he let out a small burst of plasma to ignite the bits of driftwood Hiccup had managed to drag inside.

The fire sputtered, then caught. Warmth returned, slowly.

Hiccup moved close, leaning against Toothless’s side, exhausted beyond thought.

“That was not in the plan,” he muttered hoarsely.

Toothless huffed, curling protectively around him, wings forming a partial wall against the cold.

Despite the storm outside and the fatigue pressing down on him, Hiccup managed a faint smile. “You did good, bud. Really good. Thank you.”

Toothless’s only response was a tired, rumbling purr.

And finally, with the wind howling like a ghost beyond the stone walls, Hiccup closed his eyes.

They were bruised, lost, and nearly frozen. But they were alive, and for now, that would be enough.

The next morning – Berk

The sky over Berk was a pale grey, heavy with the kind of stillness that came after a storm. The sea was calmer now, but the wind carried with it a biting chill. Seagulls circled lazily above the rooftops as the village began to stir.

Stoick the Vast pushed open the door of his house, rubbing a hand over his beard. His steps were heavy, as always, but his mind was somewhere else. The day before had been a victory — his son, against all odds, had bested the final challenge of dragon training. The boy had changed, grown even. He didn’t understand it fully, but for the first time, he’d felt… hopeful.

He glanced toward the forge, half expecting to see Hiccup already tinkering. But there was no sign of him.

Frowning, Stoick stepped back inside. “Hiccup?”

Silence.

His brow creased. He moved through the house, expecting to find his son asleep at his desk or buried under some half-built contraption.

But the bed was empty.

No signs of a struggle — just… gone.

And then he noticed it: a folded piece of parchment on the table, weighed down by a small gear. Stoick’s heart sank before he even touched it.

He unfolded it slowly, calloused fingers trembling more than he would admit.

Dad,
I’m sorry.
I never meant to lie to you, to any of you. I know you’re proud of me right now, but that pride is built on something that isn’t real. I wish I could be what you wanted me to be. What everyone wants me to be.
I won’t hurt them. I just can’t.
This is the only way I know how to do what’s right.
Please don’t come after me.
– Hiccup

The words blurred slightly as Stoick stared at the page. The silence in the house was suffocating.

He gripped the letter tightly, knuckles white.

Outside, Gobber was already hammering at the forge, calling out in his usual booming voice. “Oy! Hiccup! You sleepin’ in again?”

Stoick stepped out of the house, the wind tugging at his cloak.

“He’s gone,” he said flatly.

Gobber paused mid-swing. “What?”

Stoick didn’t repeat himself. He handed the letter to Gobber, who read it in silence, the mirth draining from his face.

“By Thor…” the blacksmith muttered, voice low.

Stoick didn’t speak. His gaze was distant, fixed somewhere far beyond the sea.

Gobber looked at him carefully. “What do we do?”

A long pause.

Stoick stood silent for a long moment. The morning wind tugged at his cloak as he stared out past the rooftops of Berk, eyes distant — calculating. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but resolute.

“Wake the sentries. Tell them to check every boat, every dock. I want someone posted at the cliffs to the north. If he took a ship, he couldn’t have gone far.”

Gobber hesitated. “You think he took one of ours?”

“It’s the only way out,” Stoick responded. Either that, or a dragon…

Stoick shut the thought down immediately. He would find his son.

He continued. “Ask if anyone saw him leave through the gates, and send Astrid and the others to go look in the woods, up to Raven Point.”

A few villagers had gathered nearby, drawn by the tension. Stoick turned to them with the weight of authority in his voice.

“You — Einar, Leif — take a crew and search the shoreline. Look for anything: footprints, rope, tracks. If you find anything, any sign of Hiccup at all, send someone back to me. Immediately.”

They nodded and scattered without hesitation.

Gobber stepped up beside him, eyes still on the letter. “He planned this… and didn’t tell anyone.”

Stoick gave no answer. He was staring down at the parchment, fingers tightening.

“He’s not a warrior,” he said at last, his voice low. “But he has the will of one. And that... that makes him hard to hold back.”

He looked out over the misty horizon — endless ocean and storm-dark clouds. His jaw clenched.

“Wherever you are, son… please be safe.”

The storm had passed.

The sky, once a churning black wall of fury, now stretched out in calm, endless blue. Sunlight filtered gently through the trees outside the cave, casting golden ripples across the damp stone floor. The sea, still murmuring in soft waves against the shore, seemed like an entirely different creature from the night before.

Hiccup stirred.

His clothes were still slightly damp, clinging to him with the stubbornness of sea salt and cold air, but the fire Toothless had sparked in the corner had done its job. He sat up slowly, blinking against the warm light. Toothless remained curled nearby, his wings twitching slightly in sleep, breathing deep and slow like a living furnace.

Hiccup smiled faintly, then reached over and gave the dragon’s side a gentle pat. “Still asleep, huh?” he murmured. “Well, you’ve earned it.”

Stretching the stiffness from his limbs, he rose and carefully stepped out of the cave.

The world outside was dazzling in its contrast. Everything was wet and shining, from the moss-covered rocks to the sand at the shoreline. The air smelled of salt, scorched ozone, and pine. For a moment, he just stood there, letting it all settle. The wind was calm. No thunder. No fire. Just quiet.

And then, as it always did, his mind began to turn.

His hand instinctively moved toward his side, only to grasp at empty air. No map. No journal.

Gone — both of them. One swept away by the wind, the other… lost in that violent, electric encounter with the Skrill.

He sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers raking through tangled, sea-damp hair. “Nice going, Hiccup,” he muttered to himself. “Lost, off course, and no idea where ‘here’ even is.”

The island wasn’t large. He started walking its perimeter, boots squishing in wet sand. It was rocky and sloped on one side, forested lightly on the other, with no sign of past habitation — no smoke, no structures, not even a path. A few birds stirred overhead, but otherwise the place was still.

‘This isn’t the Farreach Isles,’ he realized. ‘We’ve drifted too far east. Or… south? I don’t even know anymore.’

He looked out at the horizon, where the sea stretched endlessly in every direction. There was something oddly humbling — and terrifying — about being so completely surrounded by blue.

Still, they needed food. If nothing else, that he could manage.

After finding a narrow, rocky outcrop near the shore, Hiccup took out a simple hook and line from his belt pouch — one of the few things that hadn’t been lost in the chaos — and crouched down by the water. He cast the line and sat back on a dry patch of rock.

“Alright, let’s see if I can earn some breakfast,” he said aloud, if only to break the silence.

It wasn’t long before a familiar shuffle and huff of warm breath signaled Toothless’s arrival. The dragon trudged up beside him, wings stretching as he yawned, blinking slowly at the sunlight.

“Well look who’s up,” Hiccup grinned. “Sleep well? You snored, by the way. Loudly.”

Toothless gave him a mock-glare and grumbled, then sat down beside him and watched the line in the water with mild disinterest.

“I’m working on breakfast,” Hiccup said, casting again. “No fireballs at the fish this time, alright? Let me try it the boring way first.”

Toothless let out a snort but curled his tail contentedly around his paws.

For a while, they just sat there, quiet. The kind of peaceful quiet that came after survival — not comfortable, but grateful.

Then, something moved on the horizon.

Hiccup leaned forward, squinting.

A speck. Just barely visible at first. Then larger. A ship — sails full, hull cutting cleanly through the waves. It wasn’t Viking, not by design. The shape was too rounded, the flags unfamiliar.

Hiccup’s eyes widened.

“…A ship?”

Hiccup stood, eyes fixed on the slowly approaching silhouette on the horizon. He shielded his brow with one hand, squinting at the sails that billowed gently in the morning breeze.

A part of him sparked with hope.

That might be their only shot, he thought. If they really had drifted east, then maybe they were near a trade route.

The vessel didn’t resemble anything Viking-made. The hull was smoother, the sails broader. Not a warship, from what he could tell — but not something he could entirely place either. That made it both promising… and dangerous.

He glanced at Toothless, who now stood beside him, tail swishing lightly as he stared at the ship too.

“There’s no guarantee it’s friendly,” Hiccup murmured. “Could be traders. Could be pirates. Could be something in between.”

Toothless let out a low growl, clearly not fond of the uncertainty.

“I know,” Hiccup said. “But we can’t stay here. If they’re heading to land — to a port, a town, anything — we need to follow them. Even if it’s just to figure out where the heck we are.”

Toothless looked back at him and snorted, then gave a short, reluctant huff of agreement.

“We’ll stay high. Out of sight. No one needs to know we’re there,” Hiccup said, already stepping back toward the cave. “We just follow.”

He cast one last glance out toward the ship, which was already moving farther along the horizon.

“It’s a long shot,” he admitted, almost to himself, “but it’s better than waiting for a miracle on this rock.”

Hiccup gave Toothless a nod, and the dragon lowered himself, allowing his rider to climb onto the saddle. With a flex of powerful hind legs and a mighty sweep of his wings, Toothless launched them into the air.

The wind caught them immediately, cool and crisp in the aftermath of the storm. They rose swiftly, leveling out above the clouds, the sun painting the sky in soft hues of gold and blue. Below, the ship continued its steady course across the open sea.

Hiccup leaned low in the saddle, one hand gripping the reins loosely, the other resting against Toothless’s warm scales.

His stomach growled.

“Okay, I know,” he muttered to himself, then glanced down at the sea. “We probably should’ve had breakfast. Or dinner. Or anything.”

Toothless rumbled quietly in agreement, his own hunger evident in the way he glanced longingly toward the water below, as if hoping a fish might leap into view mid-flight.

“We’ll eat soon,” Hiccup promised, patting the dragon’s neck. “Wherever this ship is going, it has to lead to a harbor, right? Ports mean food. Hopefully not salted herring. Again.”

The humor in his voice was thin. Forced, even.

His gaze drifted westward, over the endless blue. Somewhere, far beyond the horizon, Berk still existed — the forge, the Great Hall, the black cliffs he once thought were unmovable, permanent.

And his father.

By now, Stoick would’ve read the letter. Or maybe Gobber had found it and brought it to him. Either way, the damage was done.

Hiccup swallowed, his throat dry.

‘He must be furious… Or worse — disappointed.’ The thought sat heavy in his chest. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he murmured under his breath. “But this… This was the only way.”

He didn’t need to look to know Toothless was watching him — those deep green eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“I couldn’t stay,” he added softly. “Not after what I did. Not when I knew what they expected of me.”

Toothless let out a low, comforting trill.

“And besides,” Hiccup said, exhaling slowly, “they never would’ve accepted you. Not really.”

Hours passed. The ship sailed onward, and so did they.

Then, finally, land appeared on the horizon — but it was nothing like the harsh cliffs or misty forests of Berk. This coastline was vibrant, serene. Rolling green hills gave way to sparkling waters and a towering fjord that cradled a quaint yet elegant kingdom. The spires of a castle reached skyward, nestled above a town that bustled with distant life. The architecture was delicate, almost regal, with steep rooftops and decorative stonework unlike anything Hiccup had ever seen.

His jaw dropped slightly.

“…Well, this definitely isn’t the Farreach Isles,” he muttered. “Unless they’ve had a serious upgrade.”

Toothless snorted in agreement.

Hiccup chuckled and shook his head. “How far off did that storm throw us, bud?”

The dragon only hummed, dipping slightly as the town came closer into view.

Wherever this place is, Hiccup thought, it’s a long way from home.

And maybe — just maybe — that was exactly what they needed.

Author's Note

To anyone who's stumbled onto this fic—welcome (and I'm only half-sorry for what you're about to read). Years ago, I was deep in the animated crossover fandom: HTTYD, Frozen, RotG, Brave, Tangled... you name it. I always thought there was massive narrative potential in a Hiccup/Elsa crossover. Now, with the live-action film incoming, I finally got the push I needed. So—here goes.

A few things to clear up:

1. This fic will likely be long. I've been sitting on way too many ideas for way too many years.

2. It will be completed—I've already drafted several chapters ahead (though they'll be polished as I go). All I ask is a little trust from any brave soul willing to follow along.

3. Updates will be irregular. Life is chaos, but at least I get to release some of that chaos through my keyboard.

4. Yes, this is a Hiccelsa story. But be warned: I'm a sucker for slowburn and emotional payoff, so it won't be quick or easy.

5. I'll be taking a few creative liberties—because hey, it's fanfiction—but my goal is always to respect the heart of these characters and the worlds they come from.

Thanks for reading. Hope you stick around!

Chapter Text

Author’s Note

So soon?! Yep, I know, fresh update! Truth is, everything I originally wrote for the first chapter was kinda crammed into one huge chunk. A good friend convinced me to split it up, and after some thought, I agreed—it feels better paced this way. This is the rest of the introduction to fantasy of mine.

Just a quick heads-up on timelines: Hiccup is 15 here (like in HTTYD 1), while Elsa is 16 and Anna 13. Later on, when we reach Frozen events, Elsa will be 21 and Hiccup 20. I probably should’ve clarified this earlier, but hey, better late than never!

Thanks to anyone strong enough to put up with my keyboard-fueled fantasies. Enjoy the read!

Disclaimer: All original characters, stories, and settings belong to their respective owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only, with no intent of profit or copyright infringement.

Finally, land.

Hiccup felt his chest tighten with cautious relief as the distant dark ribbon on the horizon resolved into solid ground. Behind him, Toothless let out a low, rumbling trill that almost sounded like a question.

“Yeah, bud,” Hiccup exhaled, voice cracking with weariness. “That’s land. Actual, solid, non-sinking land.”

They circled higher, gliding effortlessly above the wisps of morning cloud. Hiccup shielded his eyes against the sun and squinted down. A wide bay opened beneath them, its waters glittering in pale light. Nestled on its shores sprawled a city.

A real city.

Not a scattering of timber longhouses on a foggy cliff, but high stone walls, towers, peaked roofs. Colorful banners fluttered from parapets, and ships bobbed at anchor in a bustling port.

“Okay,” Hiccup muttered. “That’s... definitely not Berk.”

He bit his lip as Toothless gave an eager snort and angled to descend.

“Wait. Hold on. We can’t just... drop in there.”

He forced his brain to work past the exhaustion. This wasn’t the Barbaric Archipelago anymore, of that he was fairly certain. He’d never seen architecture like this, and he was pretty sure none of the southern trade routes described anything like these mountains or fjords.

But there was one thing he knew for certain.

There were no dragons here.

The territory of dragons, as far as he knew, stretched mostly across the Barbaric Archipelago and the wild seas around it. Beyond those reaches, sightings grew rare, the maps went blank, and human settlements took over. Whatever lay beneath them now—this city, these mountains—it was far from dragon lands. That much, at least, he was fairly certain of.

That cut both ways. No dragons meant no surprises like that Skrill in the storm, no airborne hunters to force them into deadly chases. But it also meant no one here would be prepared for the sight of a Night Fury. Berk would have attacked Toothless on sight. Strangers down there might panic—or worse. The danger hadn’t gone away.

He remembered the old trade rumors: southern nations sometimes bought dragon scales or bones from Viking traders. To these people, dragons were monsters, trophies, commodities.

Not so different from Berk.

If they saw Toothless?

“Not happening,” he said firmly. Toothless growled in complaint.

“Yeah, I know. But you can’t come into the city. It’s too dangerous.”

They drifted along the edge of the fjord, and Hiccup scanned the thick green forests hugging the base of the tallest mountain nearby. That would have to do.

They landed on a slope of mossy stone, needles crackling under Toothless’s talons.

Hiccup dismounted and turned to face his friend. He rested his forehead against the cool scales between the dragon’s eyes.

“You saved my life back there,” he murmured. “Again. I owe you everything. But now I need you to do one more thing.”

Toothless blinked at him, wide-eyed, almost wounded.

“Stay hidden. Stay quiet. Don’t burn anything. Please?”

Toothless huffed. A small plume of smoke drifted from his nostrils in theatrical protest.

“I’ll come back. I promise. I just... need to figure out where we are. If there are people here who’ll help us. Or at least won’t try to kill us on sight.”

He scratched Toothless’s chin until the big head drooped, rumbling in reluctant acceptance.

“That’s my boy,” Hiccup said softly.

He took one last look around to memorize the area—the crags, the tree line, the faint path of a stream—before turning toward the distant city.

It didn’t take long before the smell of wood smoke and the sound of distant voices guided him to a road. The dirt was packed firm by many feet and wheels, a sure sign of civilization.

He trudged along it, keeping his hood up, the chill biting his damp clothes. After a bend in the road, a squat building came into view.

A sign swung gently above the door, painted in bold, almost playful letters:

Wandering Oaken’s Trading Post. And Sauna

Hiccup let out a breathy laugh.

“Well. At least someone here can write.”

He pushed the door open. A bell tinkled.

Inside, warmth and the smell of pine hit him all at once. Shelves crammed with every imaginable good—blankets, lanterns, barrels of salted fish, jars of something suspiciously pickled.

Behind the counter stood a towering, broad-shouldered man with a bushy blond beard and twinkling eyes.

“Yoo-hoo! Big autumn special!”

Hiccup blinked, disoriented.

“Uh. Hi.”

The man beamed at him.

“Welcome, traveler! You look cold! Hungry? We have hot cider, fur cloaks, reindeer sausage…”

Hiccup shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the coins in his pouch—just a few battered coppers, all he’d brought.

“I... actually, I’m new here,” he managed. “Very new. I’m... uh... lost.”

Oaken cocked his head.

“Lost? In Arendelle? Oh, you came a long way then, ja?”

“Arendelle?” Hiccup repeated slowly, tasting the foreign word.

So that was the name of this place.

Hiccup forced a tight smile. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

The big man’s eyes twinkled kindly. “Do not worry! Oaken’s Trading Post has everything a traveler might need!”

“That’s... good.” Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I’m looking for some things. Some dry clothes, a little food. Maybe... a map of the region?”

“Maps? Of course! Finest in the kingdom.”

Oaken reached under the counter and produced a scroll, unrolling it with a flourish.

Hiccup stepped closer, squinting.

“Right. Uh...” He hesitated, fingers hovering over the parchment. “Could you... show me where we are? Exactly?”

“Here!” Oaken jabbed a thick finger at a little fjord town drawn in ink. “This is Arendelle. Center of trade on the west coast.”

‘Definitely not the Archipelago,’ Hiccup realized with a sinking stomach.

He swallowed. “Huh. Okay. That’s... helpful. Really helpful.”

He glanced up, fiddling with a loose string on his sleeve. “Sorry, um—one more question. Would you happen to know if there’s... anywhere abandoned nearby? Like, a cabin? Or an old shed?”

Oaken blinked. “Abandoned?”

Hiccup’s voice dropped. “Just somewhere quiet. Y’know… away from people. And noise.”

Oaken shrugged. “A couple of old hunter’s huts and some sheds in the woods. Here and here.” He circled them on the map with a blunt thumb. “Nobody’s used them in years.”

Hiccup felt a knot in his chest loosen.

“Thanks. That’s... exactly what I needed.”

Oaken’s smile widened. “Anything else?”

While they spoke, Hiccup negotiated a small list—dried fish, dry clothes, hard bread, a wool cloak two sizes too big, a battered old canteen. He winced at the price, pushing the last of his copper coins across the counter.

A few minutes later he was packing up, and even had the new map tucked into his belt.

“Anything else?” Oaken asked once more.

“I think that’s—”

But the door slammed open with a BANG.

A blast of wind and autumn leaves followed the hulking figure who stomped in, hauling the last of the ice blocks off his sled just outside the door.

“Delivery for Oaken,” the newcomer snapped.

Hiccup glimpsed the reindeer waiting patiently in the cold, nose poking past the doorway to sniff the air and snort.

He watched, startled.

“Kristoff!” Oaken boomed cheerfully. “Good to see you!”

Kristoff didn’t smile. He walked to the counter with purposeful steps.

“Payment?” he demanded.

Oaken’s grin faltered. “Ah. Yes. About that. Times are tough, Kristoff. I can only give you half of what we agreed.”

Kristoff’s jaw tightened.

“Half? That won’t even feed Sven.”

Oaken shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly.

Their voices rose.

Hiccup, clutching his new bundle, edged back a step. His gaze darted between them, increasingly uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, “that’s... my cue.”

He slipped outside quietly, letting the door creak shut behind him.

The cold bit at his cheeks. Hiccup pulled his hood up, trying to catch his breath.

Just beside the sled, the giant reindeer—Sven—was chewing stoically at a ragged carrot top.

Hiccup watched him for a moment.

Things went well, all in all.

But then the door burst open again.

Kristoff came flying out with an undignified oomph, skidding across the ground.

“AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU MIND YOUR MANNERS!” Oaken roared after him before slamming the door.

Kristoff scowled at the closed door, fists clenching in frustration. Beside him, Sven shuffled uncomfortably and nudged him with his nose.

Kristoff let out a long, defeated sigh.

“No, Sven. No carrots yet,” he muttered.

Sven’s head dropped in disappointment.

Rolling his eyes at his own predicament, Kristoff lowered his voice into a ridiculous, growly impersonation, playing both sides of the conversation:

“But Kristoff, you said we were gonna get carrots.”

Then back to normal, softer now: “Don’t worry, Sven. We will.”

From a short distance away, Hiccup winced, freezing mid-step.

He watched Kristoff’s bizarre one-man dialogue with a weird sense of secondhand embarrassment. It felt far too private to be witnessing—like he’d barged in on something meant just for them.

Was that how he sounded like with Toothless?

Suppressing the guilty flutter in his stomach, he adjusted his bundle of supplies, ready to slip away and return the way he’d come.

But then Kristoff’s voice, clear in the cold air, made him pause:

“C’mon, buddy. We’ll just sell the ice in town instead. Someone will pay.”

Hiccup blinked. ‘The city? They’re going to the city?’

He shifted his grip on the bundle, thinking fast. Truthfully, he’d been planning just now to head straight back to Toothless after getting what he needed. He’d figured out where they were. He’d got them some food to make up for breakfast. He had done his part, there was no reason to linger.

Except… well, there kind of was.

The idea of seeing an actual city—a real, thriving port town like Arendelle—up close tugged at his curiosity in a way that was almost annoying. He should have been worried about laying low, about avoiding notice. But the thought of exploring the place was… weirdly tempting.

He let out a quiet, resigned breath. ‘Fine. Just a quick look.’

He mentally added ‘apologize to Toothless’ to his list. He’d need to smooth things over for the delay—maybe with extra fish to make it up to him.

Squaring his shoulders, Hiccup stepped forward to try his luck with the ice-seller and his reindeer.
He cleared his throat nervously and took a tentative step forward.

“Um. Sorry—I couldn’t help overhearing.” He shifted uncomfortably when both pairs of eyes turned to him. “You’re going to the city to sell... ice?”

Kristoff shot him a skeptical glare. “Yeah. So?”

Hiccup felt heat rise in his face.

“I... I need to get there, too. I, uh, don’t really know the way. Or have... transportation.”

Kristoff raised an eyebrow.

“Not our problem.”

Hiccup held up his hands quickly.

“I know! I know. I’m not asking for charity. I, um—” He glanced at Sven, who was licking his lips. “I can... buy your friend some carrots in town?”

Sven’s ears perked up immediately.

Kristoff sighed, glaring at the reindeer. “Traitor.”

Sven snorted.

Kristoff turned back to Hiccup with an exaggerated scowl.

“Fine. But you’re buying good carrots. None of that limp stuff.”

Hiccup managed a relieved smile. “Deal.”

Kristoff muttered under his breath as he climbed onto the sled.

“Hop on before I change my mind.”

Hiccup clambered awkwardly onto the sled behind Kristoff, clutching his new bundle of supplies. Sven snorted, shaking his harness impatiently.

They set off with a lurch, the runners hissing over the packed dirt and fallen leaves. The wind tugged at Hiccup’s too-large cloak as he tried to settle in without falling off.

For a while they rode in silence, the forest thinning as the road sloped gently downward toward the bay.

Kristoff cleared his throat. “So. What brings you to Arendelle…?”

Hiccup flinched at the sudden question. He hesitated, then forced a crooked smile.

“Uh. Name’s Hiccup. Just... Hiccup.”

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to ask something but decided otherwise.

“Kristoff,” He instead said, introducing himself. Formally, at last. “And this is Sven.”

He nodded towards the reindeer, who snorted in acknowledgment.

Hiccup nodded, before answering his question. “I’m... traveling. Looking for somewhere... better.” He kept it vague on purpose, glancing at the passing trees. “Things didn’t really work out back home.”

Kristoff let out a low grunt of acknowledgment. “Mm.”

Silence fell again, punctuated only by the jingle of Sven’s harness and the creak of the sled. Hiccup fiddled with the edge of his cloak.

Kristoff eventually asked, with mild suspicion: “Planning to stay in the city, then?”

Hiccup shifted uncomfortably. “I... don’t know yet. Depends.” He swallowed. What was the plan?

‘Find food. Don’t get killed. Maybe find work.’ His mind raced ahead. ‘Could I even get hired? What would I even do? Clean stables? Patch boats?’

He almost let out a self-mocking laugh. ‘Maybe I should just ask Kristoff for an ice-hauling job. “Hey, can I be your reindeer wrangler?”’ He squashed the thought with a sigh.

Kristoff glanced over his shoulder, noting the sigh. “You always this cheerful?”

Hiccup tried to muster a half-hearted grin. “Sorry. Rough couple of days.”

Kristoff snorted. “Yeah. Been there.” He fell silent for a moment, then seemed to thaw a little. “Business isn’t great right now anyway. Ice’s harder to sell this time of year. People stock up in summer. So I have to take what I can get.”

Hiccup perked up a bit. “But you sell it in town? Like... market stalls and things?”

“Sometimes,” Kristoff grumbled. “Other times I haul it straight to the castle stores. But it’s a pain. And Oaken’s a crook.” He shot a dark look over his shoulder at the trees they’d left behind. “Half pay. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said with a wince. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”

Kristoff shrugged gruffly. “You learn to deal. Or you don’t eat.”

The conversation lapsed again. The road widened as they crested a final rise. Hiccup blinked, startled, as the view opened up before them.

Arendelle proper sprawled along the bay. Sunlight glinted off high, sloped rooftops tiled in green and red. Narrow streets twisted among cozy-looking houses painted in bright blues, yellows, and whites. Flags snapped in the breeze. Bells tolled faintly from a distant spire.

“Whoa,” Hiccup breathed.

Kristoff smirked despite himself. “Never seen a city before?”

“Not like this.” Hiccup leaned forward, trying to take it all in. “My home’s... smaller. And grayer. A lot grayer.”

Sven huffed as if in agreement and plodded steadily onward. They crossed a small bridge over a trickling stream and clattered onto cobblestones.

People bustled everywhere—women in colorful shawls, men with baskets slung over shoulders, children dashing between stalls. The air smelled of baking bread, wet earth, and sea salt.

Hiccup tried not to gape too obviously, but failed.

Kristoff grumbled, “Don’t look too lost or they’ll try to sell you something twice.”

They finally slowed in a small square lined with vendors. Sven stopped, shaking his antlers proudly. Kristoff hopped down and turned, hand out expectantly.

“Carrots,” he prompted dryly. “For the big guy.”

Hiccup froze, then shifted his pack awkwardly. “Ehm. About that…I actually, y’know, may be temporarily out of—”

Before Kristoff could snarl at him, someone else’s voice cut across the square.

“Kristoff!”

Kristoff winced visibly, shoulders hunching. “Oh no.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a leather apron strode toward them, dark hair tied back, soot streaking his arms. His eyes were sharp, and his tone even sharper.

“Well, well. Look who decided to show his face.”

Kristoff tried on a smile that looked painfully forced. “Ingvar! Hey! Long time no see. I was just thinking about you, actually—wondering how you’ve been. Hah.”

Ingvar didn’t even blink. He stopped a foot away and crossed his arms.

“Kristoff. Are you finally here to pay what you owe me?”

Kristoff coughed. “Ehm. Actually—”

Ingvar’s eyes narrowed. “Months, Kristoff. It’s been months. I rebuilt that sled with the promise you’d pay in full as soon as you could. You keep ‘forgetting’.”

Kristoff flushed dark red, mouth opening and closing. Sven pawed the cobblestones uncomfortably.

Hiccup swallowed hard, watching the exchange with an awkward tightness in his chest. He couldn't help feeling a stab of sympathy for Kristoff. Just a while ago on the sled, Kristoff had been grousing about Oaken short-changing him and how tough things were getting. Now he was being dressed down in the street like a child who’d stolen sweets. For all of Kristoff’s gruffness, Hiccup could see the frustration and embarrassment in the way his shoulders hunched.

Ingvar kept going, voice low but firm. “Business is hard everywhere. I know that. But I don’t use it as an excuse to break my word. My own forge is barely breaking even, and yet here you are. Acting like it’s a surprise I’d come looking.”

The word “forge” snagged Hiccup’s attention immediately. He glanced more closely at Ingvar, suddenly noticing details he’d missed in the tension: the dark smudges on the man’s fingers and under his nails that no amount of scrubbing could erase, the worn leather apron, the faint scorch marks along the edges. A blacksmith, definitely.

Hiccup’s mind raced, evaluating.

Working at a blacksmith’s forge in Arendelle. The idea settled in his thoughts like a seed rooting in fresh soil.

He’d never planned to settle anywhere, not really. The idea had been to drift from island to island, always staying just far enough from Berk that his father would eventually give up looking. But this—this was different. Out here, halfway across the world from Berk and the Archipelago, it was nearly impossible to track him down. Arendelle was thriving, the people seemed open enough, and if Ingvar really did have a forge here, that was a ready-made chance to earn his keep. No need to steal or beg—just honest work.

Then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to Toothless. That had always been the problem—he wasn’t just a runaway Viking, he was a runaway Viking with a Night Fury in tow. Even now, the dragon was probably pacing in the copse of trees by the road, bored and impatient to see what Hiccup was doing. The plan had been to avoid any settlements bigger than a fishing hamlet, to keep Toothless hidden. But here… here, there were options. Oaken had mentioned a few outlying sheds, places no one bothered much with. Places where a dragon could stay out of sight.

The possibility of calling Arendelle home—their new home—started to feel disconcertingly real.

Of course, reality reasserted itself just as quickly. If the forge was struggling, maybe Ingvar couldn’t afford hired help. But if he was chasing down debts, perhaps an extra pair of hands might sound appealing, even if temporary.

Besides, Hiccup winced inwardly, he kind of owed Kristoff and Sven anyway. He was the whole reason Ingvar had found them here in the first place. If Kristoff was in trouble now, it was at least partly his fault.

The least he could do was help clean it up. Hiccup felt the beginnings of a plan taking shape, careful not to let hope get too far ahead of caution.

Kristoff tried to sputter an explanation to the older man, but Hiccup interrupted, stepping forward quickly.

“Excuse me.”

Ingvar’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and appraising.

Hiccup cleared his throat. “I-I’m Hiccup. I’m—uh—a blacksmith. In training. Traveling to learn more.” He swallowed. “You must be Ingvar. Kristoff actually brought me here to meet you. Said you might be looking for an apprentice.”

Ingvar arched a single eyebrow. “Is that so.”

Kristoff blinked. “Did I?”

Hiccup elbowed Kristoff lightly. Kristoff grimaced and coughed.

“I mean. Yeah. I did. Totally.”

Ingvar looked between the two of them, unimpressed. “Funny. I don’t recall advertising for help.”

Hiccup didn’t miss a beat. “No, I know. But I’m offering a deal. I’ll work in your forge for pay, like any apprentice. But I’ll put in extra hours—unpaid—until Kristoff’s debt is cleared. You can treat it as a trial. At the end, if you think I’m worth keeping on, you can decide then.”

Ingvar’s expression didn’t soften, but he paused. He studied Hiccup with cool, measuring eyes. Silence stretched.

Kristoff was sweating.

Sven sneezed.

Finally, Ingvar let out a slow breath. “A trial period. To pay off his debt.”

Hiccup nodded firmly. “Exactly.”

Ingvar frowned, weighing something. He glanced at Kristoff, who tried not to wilt.

After a long moment, Ingvar gave a terse nod. “Fine. Trial period. Starts tomorrow morning.”

Hiccup’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you. Really.”

Ingvar gave him one last searching look. “Don’t thank me yet, boy. I’m not easy to impress.” He turned and strode away without another word.

Kristoff looked like he was about to argue. His mouth opened, brow furrowing in irritation—and something like embarrassment. His eyes flicked between Hiccup and the retreating silhouette of Ingvar, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The idea of a stranger stepping in to bail him out clearly didn’t sit well.

But Sven gave a low grunt and nudged Kristoff’s side with his nose, hard enough to make him stumble half a step. Kristoff shot the reindeer a dark look, then sighed heavily.

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered. “No sense chewing you out when you’re... actually trying to help.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, gaze flicking to Ingvar’s retreating figure before returning to Hiccup.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Mr. Blacksmith-in-training. Ingvar’s one of the best smiths west of the mountains, maybe on the whole damn continent. People say lords send riders from all over just to buy his blades or try to convince him to move to their lands. He’s had apprentices before—good ones, too—but none of them stuck around long. He’s… not easy.”

Hiccup blinked at that, surprised. “Ah. Really?”

Kristoff squinted at him. “...You really aren’t from around here, huh?”

Hiccup hesitated, then lifted one shoulder in a sheepish half-shrug.

Kristoff exhaled, something like resignation in his voice. “Well you’d better be really good at smithing. Or I’m going to owe him twice as much.”

Hiccup felt a small knot tighten in his stomach at that. He’d been so busy thinking about the opportunity that he hadn’t considered just how demanding someone like Ingvar might be. But the decision was made. He wasn’t about to back out now.

Sven snorted and eyed the both of them, ears flicking pointedly at Kristoff, as if urging him to say something decent for once. Kristoff followed the reindeer’s expectant stare and let out another, softer sigh. He reached up to scratch Sven’s cheek absently before glancing back at Hiccup, expression grudging but sincere.

“...Fine. Thank you. For helping us,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable but meaning it. Then, in a lower voice, he added, almost to himself, “Even if it feels like the debt’s just been shifted to you.”

Hiccup gave him a small, tentative smile. “Well… if you really want us to be even, maybe you could give me a tour of the city?”

Kristoff blinked, clearly taken aback. Then, after a beat, he snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

This time, Sven let out a pleased little grunt, earning a fond pat from Kristoff.

They hadn’t even properly reached the heart of the market when Kristoff slowed, waving a hand ahead of them.

“Welcome to the main square,” he said, sounding half-tour guide, half-local-show-off. “That’s Mikkel the baker over there—best bread in the region, though don’t tell his wife he says so. She’s the one who actually runs the books. Arvid the greengrocer’s next stall over—freshest carrots in town, no contest.”

Hiccup nodded, taking it in. The place was alive with motion: carts creaked over cobbles, children darted between adults, the smell of fresh bread mingling with woodsmoke and sea breeze.

Kristoff went on, pointing things out. “That stall with the blue awning? Old Lena’s cloth. She’ll fleece you if you don’t haggle. Over there is the tannery. Don’t get too close unless you like gagging. And further up—” He gestured to a broader lane, where a darkened timber building squatted near a crossroads. “That’s Ingvar’s forge.”

Hiccup followed his finger, marking the spot. His chest felt tight and oddly hopeful at the same time.

“Big place,” he remarked quietly.

Kristoff grunted. “Yeah. Gets more business than even he can handle, even if he won’t admit it. Anyway. Come on.”

They passed rows of busy stalls selling vegetables, fish, wool, and carved trinkets. Merchants called out prices, buyers haggled, and the smell of salt and smoke drifted from the docks below. Seagulls shrieked overhead, circling for scraps.

Hiccup tried to take it all in: the stone-paved street sloping toward the harbor, the wooden piers lined with boats unloading their catches, people bustling past with baskets and nets.

It was along this road that he noticed an old fisherman struggling by his cart.

Bent almost double, the man strained to load a heavy basket of gutted cod onto his cart. Each time he shifted, he paused to rub his lower back.

Kristoff didn’t hesitate. “Hold this,” he muttered, shoving his own bag at Hiccup before jogging over.

“Need a hand, Bjorn?”

“Pah!” the old man spat, though his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “I said I’m fine!”

Kristoff chuckled and helped anyway.

When he came back, he shook his head with mock exasperation. “Stubborn as a rock, that one. When I was little he’d carry two of those baskets like they weighed nothing.”

Hiccup said nothing aloud, but the image of an old drawing came to his mind: a small dockside crane, rope-and-pulley rig, maybe even a simple winch he could turn by hand. The kind of project he’d lost when his journal went overboard, but not one he’d forgotten.

He tucked it away for later.

They turned back toward the square, weaving through the crowd. Kristoff kept up his commentary, less formal now, more like friendly ribbing.

“Watch your step there, cobble’s cracked. Oh, and that corner floods every time it rains. Ingvar’s place is just up from the smithy district, so you won’t get lost if you can remember that much.”

Hiccup smirked faintly. “I think I can manage.”

A little further on, Kristoff waved at a woman in front of a flower shop, two small children tugging at her skirts. She was hauling a big wooden bucket, trying to balance it with one hand while holding onto her youngest with the other.

“Kristoff!” she called, relief in her voice.

“Marta,” he greeted, walking over to relieve her of the bucket. “You’re gonna throw your back out.”

She laughed, embarrassed. “It’s not that heavy. I’ve just been hauling these all morning. The well’s not far, but… well. You know.”

Kristoff helped her carry the load to the doorway. He made a show of rolling his eyes at the kids, who giggled at him before darting around to help.

Hiccup shifted his gaze towards the well at the center of the nearest square.

A better pulley. A counterweight winch at the well. On Berk he’d wanted it to move water fast enough to douse fires in a dragon raid—but here it could just make life easier for someone like Marta. He swallowed against the familiar ache of loss for his old designs, then firmly added it to the mental list of things to try rebuilding.

Once the buckets were set down, Marta wiped her brow.

“Thank you,” she sighed, then glanced curiously at Hiccup. “And who’s this?”

Kristoff hesitated. “He’s ah...a friend, I guess.”

He shot Hiccup an awkward sideways look before adding, “His name’s Hiccup.”

Marta blinked. Then she actually laughed. Hard.

Until she realized neither of them was joking.

“Oh—oh!” She flushed. “I’m so sorry. That’s—um. That’s a unique name.”

Hiccup gave her a wry, lopsided grin. “You’re not the first to say so. Don’t worry about it.”

Marta laughed again, sheepish. Then she gave Kristoff a knowing look.

“I’m glad you’ve finally made a real friend, Kristoff. And no, Sven doesn’t count—you two are practically brothers.”

Kristoff grumbled something incoherent.

She turned her smile back on Hiccup. “Just… have patience with him, all right? He means well. Heart of gold, even if he sometimes pretends otherwise.”

“Okay! Okay, that’s enough,” Kristoff protested, face turning red. “Tour’s over. Let’s go.”

He started pushing Hiccup away while Marta cackled behind them.

They were almost clear of the square when Hiccup slowed, eyes drawn upward. The sun was slanting past the roofs to gleam off a distant hill, where stone walls and towers rose in neat lines: Arendelle’s castle.

Hiccup tilted his head. “Is that the royal place?”

Kristoff followed his gaze. He shrugged.

“Yeah. Castle’s been there forever. Royal family’s lived there just as long. These days… people don’t see them all together much. They’re kind of private. Though the king—he tries. Walks around town sometimes. Reckon he wants to keep in touch with people.”

Hiccup hummed, comparing it in his mind to his father back on Berk: loud, involved in every little squabble or decision. He thought about the king here, trying to stay close to his people even if his family kept to themselves.

He could respect that.

They walked on for a bit, boots scuffing over cobbles as they made their way back toward the square where Sven was waiting with the sled.

Kristoff glanced sidelong at him. “You sure about this plan of yours? Working for Ingvar to pay off my sled?”

Hiccup shrugged. “It’s my best option right now. Not like he even said yes yet—I still have to prove myself. It’s just a trial. If he doesn’t want me after that, then…”

“Then what?” Kristoff prompted.

Hiccup’s mouth twisted. “Then I keep moving. Drift somewhere else.”

Kristoff was quiet a moment. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well. For what it’s worth… wouldn’t be the worst thing if you stuck around.”

Hiccup blinked, then smiled at him—a small, genuine expression. “Thanks.”

Kristoff cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret saying it.”

They trudged along in silence for a moment before Kristoff frowned again. “You got somewhere to stay?”

Hiccup hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a spot.”

In truth, he was already planning to camp in one of those abandoned sheds Oaken had mentioned. Of course, he’d fetch Toothless first, probably impatient and hungry by now. Hiccup winced inwardly at the thought of the Night Fury’s likely mood.

Kristoff narrowed his eyes. “Is it back up the way we came?”

Hiccup coughed. “Uh… yeah.”

Kristoff rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the sled. “C’mon. Hop in. We’ll give you a lift.”

Sven snorted, as if in agreement.

Hiccup chuckled and climbed aboard. “Just don’t expect me to pay you in carrots. I’m still broke.”

Kristoff smirked, flicking the reins. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. Sven says you owe him double next time.”

They set off toward the edge of town, the sled’s runners rattling over firm, leaf-strewn ground. The cool autumn air carried the scent of damp earth and chimney smoke.

Overhead, the sun hung low, casting long golden bars of light across rooftops and cobbled streets, but there was still time before evening truly set in.

Hiccup stole one last glance at the bustle of the marketplace behind them, then turned forward, already thinking ahead to the path back—and to the waiting, probably impatient dragon he'd have to soothe.

Author’s Note

Thanks for reading! As you can probably tell, Hiccup will be staying in Arendelle (for now at least). The story will spend some time exploring how he and Toothless adapt (or struggle to adapt!) to a new place with new rules, new people, and no other dragons in sight. I really appreciate anyone taking the time to follow along. Comments, feedback, or even just dropping by to say hi is always welcome. See you in the next chapter!